


through the years, we all will be together (if the fates allow)

by minervamylove



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas 1980, Established Relationship, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Holidays, M/M, Marauders, Marauders Friendship, Marauders' Era, Wartime, but with some inevitably sad forshadowing, jily, probably fluffy, sirius is a drama queen, the potters are in hiding, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 15:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8898193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minervamylove/pseuds/minervamylove
Summary: December, 1980. Under the shadow of the First War with Voldemort, five friends and one infant find solace in each other.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the holiday song "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."

Sirius Black paced a relentless track across the kitchen floor of the house in Godric’s Hollow. At nearly twenty-one, he was as restless as he had ever been as a child. But then again, no one who knew Sirius had truly expected him to settle down for anything short of extreme old age, and possibly not even that. Nevertheless, his agitation was currently grating on his friends’ nerves— they were all worried, all on edge. Peter was twitchy, James was jittery, and even Lily, their rock, was tapping a fingernail against her cup of tea, but only Sirius felt the need to show his panic through this sort of single-minded determination to ruin the hardwood floors. Baby Harry, seated in his high chair, watched his manic godfather with fascination. 

“He should be here by now,” Sirius said for what had to be the hundredth time in as many minutes, performing a sharp about-face in front of the table where his friends were sitting. “Dumbledore’s letter _said—_ ”

“We know,” said Peter automatically.

“Four o’clock, he said. Teatime.” 

“Pads, mate…” James began, only to be cut off. 

“This,” Sirius waved a hand at the darkening world outside the kitchen window, “Is not teatime. It is five-thirty, the tea is cold, and _he is still not here._ ” 

“The tea wouldn’t be cold if you drank it,” Lily muttered, unable to find the heart to censure Sirius more fully. 

Sirius whirled around. "Lily," he said with what might have been mistaken for exaggerated patience if not for the way his left eye was twitching, “Do I look like I care about the sodding tea?”

“But you said—”

“I was making a point!” 

Luckily, before anyone could come to blows, the group felt a shudder in the extensive wards that Dumbledore had placed around the perimeter of the yard. Peter squeaked. Lily all but dropped her teacup onto a nearby saucer. James, who had begun attempting to balance on the back legs of his chair, fell over with a crash. Even Harry let out a loud, startled hiccup. Sirius, for his part, froze, as still as anyone in the room could ever remember seeing him. There was fear in his eyes, a fear that was echoed in the expressions of everyone in the room. Before the war, each would have unconditionally said that this was a good sign, that their friend had returned safely. But now… it was all too possible that they would open the door to a grim Albus Dumbledore or Minerva McGonagall bearing terrible news. 

Everyone looked expectantly at Sirius. Even outside of his canine Animagus form, Sirius had a sense for people, simply paying attention to their magical signatures instead of their scents when he was two-legged. And he had a sense for one magical signature, one scent, in particular. 

Sirius’s shoulders relaxed as he recognized the presence within the wards. He looked for all the world like a man who had been thrust into the fresh air after being deprived of oxygen— relieved, euphoric, and just a little ill. 

“Remus,” he breathed, and then he was at the front door, throwing it open and half hauling the startled werewolf into the house. 

Remus Lupin, over six feet of superhuman strength wrapped in layers of tatty sweaters and damp wool overcoat, tumbled through the door and into the arms of the shorter man with an undignified yelp. “Sirius!” 

There was a general clamor as everyone in the room with the exception of Harry, stuck in his high chair, crowded towards the door. But neither Remus nor Sirius paid them any attention. 

“Rem, stop _flailing_.”

“Sirius, I’m filthy; I’ve been living with a homeless werewolf pack and I _smell_ like it, get off!”

Sirius’s fingers tightened on the lapels of Remus’s overcoat. “No chance,” he said simply. And with that, he pulled Remus in closer and stretched up to kiss him. Remus stopped struggling at once, instead letting his hands drift down to rest on Sirius’s hips and deepening the kiss. 

When they broke apart, Sirius’s gray eyes found Remus’s green ones. 

“Merry Christmas, Moons,” he whispered. 

The lines around Remus’s eyes deepened as he smiled. 

“Merry Christmas, Padfoot.”


End file.
